When Your Spirit Gets Too Weak
by Miranda Crystal-Bearer
Summary: Rated for an attempted suicide. Ken struggles with depression over his brother's death. Can a friend help him? Multiple chapters. Finished.
1. Restless Nights

When Your Spirit Gets Too Weak  
  
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We beg to borrow  
  
We beg to steal  
  
We beg forgiveness  
  
We beg to feel  
  
We beg for love  
  
I guess we beg for hate  
  
We beg for everything  
  
And pray it's not too late  
  
What everybody's tryna' feel  
  
I guess we're tryna' heal  
  
Everybody's got to kneel  
  
No way to reinvent the wheel  
  
Everybody's got to  
  
Stand up on their feet  
  
Everybody needs a dream  
  
When the spirit gets too weak  
  
So when your spirit gets too weak  
  
When the water seems too deep  
  
When you think there's just no way  
  
I'll be there for you night and day  
  
When the mountain seems too steep  
  
When your spirit gets too weak  
  
When you think theres just no way  
  
I'll be there for you night and day  
  
We beg for happiness  
  
We beg for tears  
  
We beg for courage  
  
Just to overcome our fears  
  
We beg to rise above  
  
And hope we never fall  
  
We beg for everything  
  
And pray He hears our call  
  
What everybody's tryna' feel  
  
I guess we're tryna' heal  
  
Everybody's got to kneel  
  
No way to reinvent the wheel  
  
Everybody's got to  
  
Stand up on their feet  
  
Gotta be there for your brother  
  
When the spirit gets too weak  
  
So when your spirit gets too weak  
  
When the water seems too deep  
  
When you think there's just no way  
  
I'll be there for you night and day  
  
When the mountain seems too steep  
  
When your spirit gets too weak  
  
When you think there's just no way  
  
I'll be there for you night and day  
  
Although the road is rough  
  
And sometimes you feel  
  
Like it ain't enough  
  
We'll be there for each other  
  
We'll find the way  
  
So when your spirit gets too weak  
  
When the water seems too deep  
  
When you think there's just no way  
  
I'll be there for you night and day  
  
When the mountain seems too steep  
  
When your spirit gets too weak  
  
When you think there's just no way  
  
I'll be there for you night and day  
  
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Artist: Plus One C.D: The Promise Title: When Your Spirit Gets Too Weak   
  
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Again, the wild awakening of a nightmare, the nameless dread striking death knells against my wildly pounding heart, my chest heaving for air. It's like someone is standing on me, keeping the breath out of me. Recovering some, I glance down at my hands. They are clutching fistfuls of the bedcovers I flung into a tangle when I sat upright. The knuckles are turning white. Slowly I uncurl my fingers, trying to ignore the uneasy fear that stalks me every waking moment this night.  
  
A glance at the clock reveals it is barely twenty minutes since my last terrified leap from an uneasy doze. I can feel myself shaking as I lay back down. I am physically drained, yet I am being kept awake by the silent, unknown predator that stalks me tonight. Pulling the covers up closely around me, I roll onto my side and close my eyes, blocking out as much fear as I can, which is barely a drop of the ocean that surrounds me.  
  
Slowly, I drift down, to the state where I cannot move, but am vaugely aware that my lamp is still on. Then come the first foreshadowings of the nightmare that has plagued me since I have first fallen in bed. Darkness surrounded me, inky blackness. This in itself is enough to frighten anyone, but the darkness had a texture to it. The exact feel of a slimy creature that pressed close, slithering across my skin, my face . . . .  
  
Then came the hissing voices, accusing me, speaking in a language I did not know, an acient tongue that man had outlasted, perhaps not even heard. Yet I knew what they were saying, hearing the gist in their very voices, voices that were scornful and full of hatred, comtempt. The arraignment continued for a while, then the chilling voices faded off. I was alone in the slimy darkness, the stillness unnerving. A sudden strike across my face sent me reeling.  
  
I gathered myself and looked to the direction the attack had appeared from. A haunting face slowly came to light, one with a cocky grin, eyes gleaming, yet anger displayed in those fine features. A voice, taunting, laced with comtempt and, somehow, pity, came out of the shadowed world.  
  
"You're not quite so tough as you seem, are you?" The voice and the face fades. I am alone again.  
  
Another blow, another face. But this one I have not seen for more than five years. The sorrow, the pity in these deep eyes hit me harder and pain me more than any physical injury ever could. The voice is so familiar, yet faded with time, and it, too, strikes a deep chord in my heart.  
  
"I never thought that you would come to this . . . ."  
  
The sentance is never finished as a gust of ice cold wind rips through my whole body, chilling me to the bone, freezing my heartblood as it flows. The fierce pain it brings shatters the spell, and once more I am alone in the darkness that stills me, that fills my agonized soul with disquiet. Now the firey torture begins, memories long forgotten dug up, painful ones I had wished to lock away and never see again, words that struck my heart like the lash of a whip, recent memories, still fresh in my mind, replayed over and over, until I am nearly screaming with the heartache of it all.  
  
And then, the most terrible thing of all, the knowledge that these things I have done, the horrible guilt that hangs over my soul, knowing that I am the sole person that caused all this pain.  
  
It is with tears on my face I awaken again, a sob catching in my throat. I ease myself down in bed, bury my face in my old pillow, and, as I have not done in many, many years, cry myself to sleep. 


	2. School Days

"Honey, this is the third time I've come in here," a familiar voice pleads as I'm shaken awake.  
  
"Huh?" I mumble. Blinking, I look into my mother's concerned blue eyes.  
  
"Do you want to skip school? If you're so tired, sweetie, then maybe you should," she speaks in her soft voice.  
  
Shrugging off the mists of sleep, which is very difficult, I try to be awake enough to think properly. Let's see . . . Mom was come in here to wake me up three times, none of which I remember, and she wants me to skip. Eerrr, nah-ah. "No, mom, I'm getting up."  
  
"Okay, but if you don't feel up to it, then you know I won't make you," she says, brow furrowed with worry. She bites her lip and walks out the door.  
  
Yawning, stretching sore muscles, I slowly sit up. The urge to simply go back to sleep is very strong. Ignoring it, I stand and wander over to my dresser. Looking in the mirror with bleary sight, I can see why mom is so worried. I look awful-er than usual. The tear tracks down my face don't help much, either. This is going to be a very long day, I fear.  
  
*******************   
  
A shot of pain makes me leap from sleep. Reflex jerks me upright. I blink and glance to my right. "Well, are you going to join the class again, Mr. Ichijouji?" the teacher demands sarcastically.  
  
I remain under the front of remaining politely quiet, because I really don't think I can speak for embarassment. I can feel the heat rising from my collarbone up. Some of the girls are giggling, and most of the boys are snickering. Loudly. I'm going to get teased unmercifully for this.  
  
Our algebra teacher, Mrs. Raykei, walks back to the front of the room, tapping her pointer in one hand. Her long blue dress swishes. "Since Ichijouji was paying such great attention to the lesson, he's going to come up here and work this proplem," she snaps out, making the pointer slap across the chalkboard. I involuntarily wince at the noise, as do many other students.  
  
Standing, I calmly walk to the chalkboard, analyzing the problem as I approach. The only thing that bothers me is that my head is starting to throb. Solving the algebraic problem is simple, and easily done. I nod at Mrs. Rykei and turn to walk back to my seat.  
  
"Not quite. For sleeping in class, you're going to stay after school. Now you may return," she snaps.  
  
Greeeeeat. And with a headache on top of that. Dandy. Walking back to my seat takes a little more effort than it should have. I struggle to stay awake as Mrs. Rykei's sharp voice starts snapping out orders about solving this and this problem.  
  
*******************   
  
It's with a jerk and slight jolt of fear that I awake. Oh, it's only because mom stopped the car. Okay, I'm fine. Opening the door, I shoulder my backpack and stand. Shutting the door, which slams and makes my head throb, I trot to catch up with mom as she walks across the parking lot. I fall into pace with her, and we silently walk to the door of the apartment complex.  
  
Waiting in the elevator, only half-listening to the old, funky music that they always play in these things, my mind wanders. I make myself wake up before I fall asleep on my feet. The elevator stops, and we wander to the apartment. Mom unlocks the door, and we walk in.  
  
"Thanks for coming and getting me, Merm," I tell her, smiling a little at my use of the childhood name.  
  
"Anytime, Ken dearie." Mom smiles back  
  
Not wanting any after-school snack, I walk to my room and drop my backpack by the door. Carefully closing the door until only a crack is left for the cats to come in and out of, I walk wearily to my unmade bed and flop down on it. Pulling the covers up, I immediately fall into the dark pit that has been calling all day, praying for a dreamless sleep.  
  
*******************   
  
The next day at class is misery. I can barely stay awake, and my head is pulsating with each tiny sound. I can barely see straight from pain and fatigue, much less think. I nearly fall asleep, to wake with a fearful jump. Private school teachers, especially ones that teach year-round, aren't the nicest people. Or maybe it's just ours. If they catch you napping in class, they won't hesitate to smack you across the shoulders with their pointer. None too gently, either.  
  
The science teacher slaps his pointer across the chalkboard. I wince and count the seconds down in my mind. Three . . . two . . . one! The bell rings wildly, shrilly. It is agonizing, but it also means we get out to luch. Although school lunch isn't the best, at our school it's the only time the students get to talk. Starting at the first desks, the students stand up, gather their books and walk quietly to the door. I sit halfway down the row in each class. I remain sitting to gather up my books. At each movement, my headache increases in force. The pain is excruciating.  
  
I stand, and agony sweeps over me, flooding every sense, blocking everything else. Darkness clouds my already blurred vision. My knees give way, and I drop limply back into my seat. After a few terrifying minutes, slowly the darkness and pain receed, leaving me breathless with the sharp intensity with which it came. My head is still throbbing at each desperate gasp for air.  
  
Several students crowd around me, asking if I'm okay. I lightly, carefully shake my head no and welcome the helping hands that coax me into a standing posistion. Leaning heavily on two classmates, and followed by about five others, we make our slow way to the nurse's office. Helped to a seat on the old couch, I am asked if someone should call my mother. I sense all this through a red haze of pain.  
  
I flick my fingers in three quick gestures, sign language for yes. Then I am left in a dazed silence, the only thing that stands clear, throbbing in every sense, is pain. I slowly drift down into nothingness . . . .  
  
  
  
  
  
Oooooooh, I'm soooooo cruel, ain't I? Thanks for all ya'll who've reviewed! Wait...... All ya'll? that's redundant. Great, I'm starting to sound stupid........ Well, thanks again! 


	3. Sickness and Health

I become barely aware of my dad placing me down on my bed. Mom gently flips the covers over me, and she and dad leave the room. I can tell by the shifts of shadows, the sound of their footsteps and the forever annoying yet barely-to-be-heard creak of my bedroom door closing. The door clicks as it latches. Awareness is replacing oblivion even as pain is overcoming the peace that I had been floating in. Opening my eyes takes a lot of effort. Listening intently, I hear absolutely nothing. Knowing this is gonna be painful, I collect myself. Just this small action hurts. I correct myself. Small it is not. Yet it seems insignifigant when you're playing soccer. Edging up on my elbows makes the room waver. I wait for it to settle before going any farther. In tedious stages I stand up and walk, or rather, stagger out of the room.  
  
I flop limply back in bed, astonished at how much energy that took. I can barely force myself to pull up the covers. Darkness greets me the second I close my eyes.  
  
*******************   
  
Ouch. That hurt. What is that? I slowly open one eye to see my cat kneading the covers. And my arm. I covince her that this action is not a good idea and she might try getting petted. My calico longhair complies easily. Raindrop loves being petted. Purring, she inches her way up until she's laying across me. I never noticed before how heavy she is. Her sandpaper tongue rasps against my cheek. I silently chuckle at her, and smile softly. Raindrop purrs louder than ever and continues to wash my cheek.  
  
While stroking the cat and listening to her rythmic, throaty purr, I wonder what on earth has gotten hold of me. My head is simply throbbing, although the house is silent as a graveyard. Just about every inch of me aches, and my sight . . . oh, hold on. That's just because I'm not wearing my contacts or glasses. Duh. Very smart people often do outrageously stupid things. I do it most of the time. Just ask my mother. She'll relate some very, very embaressing episodes, at my expense.  
  
*******************   
  
Owww, my head hurts . . . . Pulling myself out of the shadowed fog I have floated in for an interimable time, I stare up at the ceiling. The late afternoon sun dances in bright patterns across it, and the bright light hurts my eyes. Carefully, I roll over onto my side. I cannot help the small whimper that escapes. Every movement hurts like fire, and my head is throbbing. Laying still and trying hard not to take a very deep breath, for my throat hurts, I try to sort out my confused thoughts. My mind is not working very well. I give up on it and simply stare into space, zoning out, which is a rather bad habit of mine.  
  
With a light shock I come back, for no reason I can see. But I begin to zone out again. Except this time, darkness is reaching out with coiling tendrils to draw me into its gaping maw . . . .  
  
*******************   
  
I blink. It's night. It registers immediatly that the cool fingers of dark have soothed the pain some. Now I can move without agony. My head only throbs when either a board creaks or I move too quickly. Other than that, I am fine, so I think. I stretch, testing to see what's sore and flexing what isn't. For some reason, almost every part of me is sore. Relaxing brings solace from the pain that came up when I started stretching. With nothing to do, as I'm not sleepy, I start to daydream, about nothing in particular. The thought comes to me to get my favorite book and read with a flashlight. Deciding to act upon this, I very slowly stand up, changing altitudes in stages.  
  
After nabbing the book off the shelf, I stand a minute to get my balance. It takes a great effort to walk straight, for some reason, so I can't just pad softly about like I normally do. Picking my flashlight from off the desk on my way back to bed, my hand brushes against something. A pencil rolls off the desk, clattering to the floor with what seems like a deafening sound. I cringe and wait for several seconds before finally slipping back to bed as fast as I can.  
  
Pulling the covers up over my head, I turn the flashlight on and survey my small, cozy, yet somewhat stuffy tent. I flip the book open to the first page and start reading avidly. I place the flashlight on my shoulder and press my cheek on it to hold it there, so that both my hands are free to turn pages. The worn cover is ragged, the dustcover already torn in two and fixed again, the pages dogeared, cream and musty with age. The book's called My Friend Flicka, by Mary O' Hara. I love this book, probably because the main character's name is Kenneth McLaughin. He gets called Ken for short. Same as me! But then again, maybe I love it so much because it's about horses, or else . . . because Sam used to read it to me . . . . A tear splashes on the page. I sniff and wipe it off, continuing to read through blurred vision.  
  
*******************   
  
The light from outside is getting stronger. I flip off the flashlight and push the covers off my head. The sky is tinted rose, strong, slanting beams of brilliant sun hitting the buildings outside my window. In other words, it's morning. I yawn, then stare out the window again, studying the patterns of light and shadow the rising sun makes. My arms start to hurt from me being propped up on them. I lay back down, flip onto my back, and set the flashlight off to the side. Propping my book on my chest, I start reading again, enjoying the stillness of early dawn with a dulled sense of joy.  
  
My mind drifts from the scence of Flicka entangled in a barbed wire fence, with Ken crying over her. It wanders to my mood. Lately I've been feeling so down, and it isn't whatever I've caught this time. I just feel awful, not being able to sleep, unable to concentrate, just . . . I might as well remember what my friend Hitoshi keeps saying. He's on my soccer team, and we've been best friends ever since I can remember. My personality is kinda dark, moody, almost pessimistic, but not truely. Hitoshi say's I'm depressed, and ever since Sam . . . died . . . he's been coaxing me to get counseling. I tell him knock it off, I'm fine, but he insists.  
  
I put my book down, laying so the pages rest on my sheets, and inch my way up and over to my desk. Fishing around in my desk, I pull out a paper that Hi gave me. My nickname for Hitoshi is Hi, and he calls me Ker. Don't ask me why, because I don't know where he came up with that. I spot the pencil I knocked off the desk last night, reach down and put it back. I nab a black pen and head back to bed, tired from standing.  
  
I tear a corner off the paper and use that to mark my place in My Friend Flicka. Then I use the cover of the book as a makeshift desk. The sheet of paper is crumpled, has what appears to be coke spilled on it, and has marks in both pencil and blue ink. The pencil is from three years ago, and the blue ink from two years. What was originally on the sheet is a list of statements or questions, depending on how you look at it. I occasionally go through and mark stuff on it for amusement.  
  
This time when I finish, the number of checks stun me. My mind drifts toward the thought that perhaps. . . . Nah. I shove the thought from my mind and push the paper and pen under the bed. I pick my book up and start reading again, becoming very nearly oblivious to everything else.  
  
Until a noise startles me. My mother had just walked in and, seemingly shocked at me up and reading, has dropped a cardboard box on the floor. From the noise, I suspect it contains books. Struggling up into a sitting posistion reveals a better veiw. Yes, it does have books! As fast as my throbbing head can manage, I'm out of bed and kneeling on the floor, fishing through the books and checking out titles while my mother stands over me, startled.  
  
"Ken, wha- I don't think you should be out of bed." She recovers her powers of speech.  
  
"Don't lure me with books." Sheesh, I sound awful! Something that crawled out from under my bed would sound better.  
  
"Young man, you get back in that bed. I'll bring you some broth." Mom's tone is stern, yet joyful as she leaves the room.  
  
"Yes, mother." Dragging the box over to my bed, I slip under the covers and hang over the side of the bed, still picking through the books. I recognize some titles, but a few are new, save the authors, who's names are quite familiar to me. Mom's quick footsteps come, slightly slower than usual.  
  
"Ken!" she snaps. Whoops, I'm in trouble.  
  
"Yes ma'am?" I ask, flipping back up into bed. My head spins. Yeow, moving fast isn't such a hot idea.  
  
"Leave those books alone. You shouldn't read so much. Here's the broth." She hands me the mug, wich is quite warm, and takes the much-prized books out of my reach to my desk. Dratten. She calmly leaves the room. I wait, then carefully get out of bed and hobble over to the box. I nab the box, setting my mug full of chicken noodle soup broth down on the desk, and attempt to pick the box up. Eesh, either I've been sicker than I thought or longer than I thought. Working carefully, I somehow manage to get the box on my bed. I limp back, nab the mug, then barely make it to the bed before near-collapse.  
  
Why does it take so much energy for tasks I think simple? Maybe because I have no idea how many days have passed in a foggy blur of darkness. Occasionally sipping the broth, I rummage through the books. Some are quite old, and have a delightful feel and smell to them. Others are nearly brand-new, and their covers are slippery. But after coaxing the last few drops from the bottom of my mug, I slowly lower the box to the floor. Darkness closes around me as I pull the covers up.  
  
*******************   
  
After several days, Mom made me go back to school, but she said no soccer. I can halfway understand that, because doing any activities that required strenuous output leaves me exausted. But I love soccer, next to books and animals, it's my favorite thing! So I will probably wind up doing it anyway . . . Walking as fast as I can manage, I arrive at the bus stop five minutes early. Hitoshi bounds up off the bench and comes to greet me.  
  
His black hair is, as always, falling into his ice blue eyes. His eyes are almost white, they're such a light shade of blue. I've never seen anything like it. His features are lit with delight, and he has that funny lopsided smile of his. Green backpack over one shoulder, school uniform jacket tied around his waist, shirt rumpled, one shoe untied, it's the typical look for my energetic, slightly eccentric, best friend since I can first remember.  
  
"Ker! You had me worried, bud!" He stops just inches from me, his smile ever-widening. "But you look sorta paler than usual."  
  
"Well, thanks, Hi." A chuckle brings on a cough. Ouch.  
  
"Are you sure you're up to torture?" Hi asks, meaning school.  
  
"Pretty sure. I'm tough," I tell him after I can breathe without coughing.  
  
"Whatever you say . . . But I'm gonna love sayin' I told you so." Hi grins at me, then fishes in his backpack. "By the way, I got something for you . . . ." He rummanges furiously. After a few seconds, he removes a slighty wrinkled paper with a cry of triumph. "Whaddaya think?" he asks, handing the paper to me for inspection/approval.  
  
The sketch on the paper is an excellent pencil of a hawk soaring over the river at sunset. Hi must have spent some time at the bridge, much to his mother's dismay, I know. The hawk's feathers almost seem to stir and wave in the breeze, coming to life as I study the drawing.  
  
"It's as close to life as drawings get, Hi. I like it a lot." I smile at the hopeful look in his eyes.  
  
"You really think so?" he queries with barely contained eagerness.  
  
"Yes, I think so, silly! I wouldn't say so if I didn't think so!" I laugh at him, and even more so when he crosses his eyes. Hi can always make me laugh, even in my darkest moods. It's a talent he posseses, getting him crowned the class clown.  
  
When the bus arrives, we've discussed every topic under the sun and some that aren't even under the moon. We talk about everything from school to music, and especially soccer. The ride to school is spent scribbling notes in Hi's notebook. Tomorrow we'll use mine for the same purpose. It's funny how the little traditions are the things you remember and miss the most when you're set back or are kept from normal life. Trust me, I missed a lot not hanging out with Hi.  
  
I look at him, and he looks at me. A plan is formulating, and all I have to do to convey it to him is look and wink. He knows exactly what I mean every time. We're that kind of friends, who know excatly what the other is thinking and finish each other's sentances. Sometimes it's a little freaky, but other times its fun and very convenient. Mom think's it's wierd that we're so close, because our personalities are exactly opposite. But we share the same loves of soccer, books, and many other things.  
  
  
  
Back in school. Poor Ken. Thank you for all the reviews! I love them! BTW, useless fact: "Goodbye" comes from "God bless ye." Interesting, neh? 


	4. Cookies, Soccer, and Trouble

After school, Hi and I are sitting chatting on my bed, munching my mother's best chocolate-chip-oatmeal cookies and drinking milk. There are so many things to catch up on since I got sick. Like how Mr. Thorsburr set Amanda's hair on fire in science class. And how one student put a bent pin in Mrs. Raykei's chair and stole her pointer. Hi says the boy still has it. I'll think of a way to trade something for that pointer. Hi looks at me and grins.  
  
"You've got that look. You're gonna get your hands on that pointer at any cost, aren't you?" he asks.  
  
"How'd you guess?"  
  
"You get that look in your eye, I've told you. It says; 'If anything, I'm gonna get that.' Also, I know what you're thinking. I can read your thoughts!" Hi laughs.  
  
"Yeah, yeah. Well, then, mind-reader, tell me what I'm thinking now," I challange.  
  
Hi looks me in the eye. I've gotten used to him, but when other people first meet him, his level gaze and near-white eyes unnerve most people, especially adults for some reason. There's just something about him that seems to make you want to look twice, then shy away. I believe it's the way he looks at you. He never looks straight on, but from a sorta angle, peering out from under his wild black bangs. His hair is cut neatly above his ears, but his bangs cannot be tamed.  
  
"You're . . . theorizing about my eyes, and thinking about your books," Hi reports triumphantly. Right on the button, as usual.  
  
"Yup." I reach for another cookie, and Hi nearly snatches it before me. It soon becomes a wrestling match, although we're wary of the cookies and our glasses of milk. Hi falls off the bed, and I pounce for him. The rag rug that we landed on slides a bit across the wooden floor. Laughter and struggling turns into a sliding-on-the-rug match, acomplished with great gusto and lots of knocks. On my turn, of course I hit the desk with my elbow and fall. No blood, so we continue. Raindrop dashes out of the room in fright.   
  
"See what you did! She got a good look at your face!" I accuse Hi.  
  
"Me?" He gets this astonished and innocent look. But laughter sparkles in his eyes.  
  
"Yes, you oaf!" I laugh. He nabs a pillow off my bed and tosses it at me. I catch it easily. "Hey, Merm said no throwing stuff in the house!"  
  
"Whoops, sorry. But it's my cookie!" He reaches for it.  
  
Scrambling to my feet, I cross the room in three quick bounds. "Mine!" I snatch it up and take a bite, giving him a triumphant, crumbly grin.  
  
  
*******************  
  
  
Concentrate, focus. Keep your head, your cool, and don't lose your focus. The goal! With a strong kick, the soccer ball shot past the goalie and into the net. A perfect shot! I camly accept the accolades from my teammates and wink at Hi. He crosses his eyes for a moment, then it's back to the game. We settle in posistion. I collect myself, concentrating on the game. The kick, the start. Hi steals the ball and darts towards his goal. I quickly match pace with him, steal the ball back, and pass it across the field to a teammate. Another goal.  
  
The game passes with Hi's team scoring only once. With laughter, we all head out for pizza and ice cream, like we always do after a great practice. Our coach is a really wonderful guy. After pizza, I walk with Hi to his house, talk some at the door, then head on my lonely way home.  
  
  
*******************  
  
  
The real game is this afternoon. I'm excited, and this makes me rather hyper. Merm just watches as I dart around the room, "skating" with my socks on the slick wooden floor of our living room. The cats watch from the saftey of the bookshelf. Raindrop leaps out and attacks my ankles each time I slide by the overstuffed recliner. Whoops, too fast! With a crash I hit the floor.  
  
"Ken, are you okay?" Merm asks in an only slighty concerned voice.  
  
I rub my elbow. Funny bone. Painful tingles run up and down my arm. "Yeah, just startled!" I answer, standing up. Within two seconds, I'm at it again. I'm either stupid or ambitious. Probably stupid. Very stupid. Oh well. I skid around a corner, bounce off the wall, and am at it again.  
  
Raindrop leaps out of hiding and grabs my ankle. She bites it, and is away under the recliner, the dust ruffle swinging where she vanished. A white paw comes exploring out, followed by an orange ear and an amber eye. White whiskers sweep the floor. Seeing no prey within reach, she darts back to saftey. I laugh, get a running start, and slide to a stop in front of Merm.   
  
"Ken dearie, you really ought to be careful," she cautions, glancing up from her knitting.  
  
Standard mother comment. "Yes, mother," I reply.   
  
She gives me a look, but then is back at her knitting, muttering; "Knit four, purl one."  
  
Oh well. With a sigh and a leap, I'm back to skating, getting attacked by my mini-mountain lion, and getting new bruises.  
  
  
*******************  
  
  
Warm up time. It's time to get down to business, focus, and win. I'm very competitive when it comes to soccer. Hi would say that's putting it mildly. I tend not to mind him, though. I return my mind to the present, carefully flexing my weak ankle. It's my right, and it's always been weak since . . . since the accident. It's alright now, save being sore when the game's hard and fast-paced. Then I limp home. But I don't mind. Soccer is definately worth it.  
  
We walk to the field. Davis grins at me from his posistion. I give him a little smirk back, then focus. I can feel Hi in his posistion, but now it's time to play!  
  
  
*******************  
  
  
If I can, the last goal of the game. I can tell we've already won. Out of the corner of my eye I see Davis coming in for a slide. I kinda pop the ball up and send into the goal. Davis slides into me too late to stop the shot. But he does slam into my right ankle. Down I go.  
  
Pain shoots up and down my re-injured ankle. Was that a crack? I couldn't tell. All I know is I'm down on the soccer field, Davis is tangled up with me, and my ankle is pounding like crazy. I can faintly hear questions being tossed at me, but cannot find the words to answer.  
  
"Back off, guys, give 'em room." Hi's voice.  
  
"Ken, you okay?" Davis.  
  
"What happened, Ken?" The coach.   
  
"I think it's his ankle again," Hi answers. But even as I feel his hand on my shoulder, the darkness hovering at the edges of my mind rushes in to attack.  
  
  
*******************  
  
  
With the light comes a pair of familiar almost-white eyes. "Heya," Hi says softly. I look past him around the room. Within a few seconds, recognition nearly makes me moan. Great. It's the stark whiteness of a hostpital room. I hate this place. . . .  
  
"What happened?" Eesh, the monster thing again. How come my voice is never mine?  
  
"Evidentally your ankle was weaker than we thought. When Davis tackled you, it snapped like a twig." Hi made a pained face. "I heard it crack from where I was." And Hi's posistion was nearly halfway across the field. Yikes.  
  
"No wonder it hurts. Man, I gotta stop doing this," I more-or-less croak. Hi supresses a nervous laugh. "Laugh all you want bud. It's not like I care," I tell him with a wink.  
  
"It's not nice. Oh, and Davis said to tell you he's sorry a hundred times over." Hi grins lopsidedly.  
  
"Sounds like him," I mutter. I'm really sleepy. Probably drugs. Another reason I hate being in hospitals; they give you so many drugs it's not funny. And some of 'em make me really sick. Hi flicks his fingers at me and vanishes from my field of vision. I can hear his footsteps on the tile floor even as my mind fades into oblivion 


	5. Crutches, Hi, and Freedom

I've decided this much; crutches are not fun. I hate asking people for help. And I also hate it when people ask if I need help when I don't. At least it was Friday when I got okayed to walk around. That way I got outta school. But still. . . .  
  
Me and Hi are gonna meet at the park. I'm walking; rather, limping. Some punk kid on a skateboard nearly runs into me and winds up in a heap on the sidewalk. "Ouch, that one was bad. Sorry 'bout that!" he calls to me.  
  
"Are you okay?" I ask. Hey, it's the least I can do. The kid stands up. He's older than I am, and looks faintly familiar.  
  
"Hey, I didn't recognize you. Hi, Ken." He smiles lopsidedly.  
  
"And you are. . . ?" I still can't place the face, nor the voice.  
  
"Sorry. Matt. In case you're wondering, fame has its price," Matt says as he grins ruefully.  
  
"Don't think I don't know it. How many times a week are you mobbed?" Just out of curiosity.  
  
"About a dozen. Well, gotta go. I'm running errands for various people. Another way to earn small change." Matt winks as he sets his skateboard down. "Bye!" He zooms off.  
  
Well, that was wierd, and I'm late for me and Hi's meeting. Limping (or would it be crutching?) as fast as I can, I make it there only five minutes late. Pretty good for a kid on crutches in the busy streets of Tokyo. Of course, not too many are out, considering it's Saturday.  
  
"Hi! Sorry I'm late," I call as I limp across the clearing. These crutches are starting to rub blisters on my hands.  
  
"Was that a greeting or my name?" Hitoshi teases.  
  
"Think what you want." Carefully, I lower myself down to the ground. "Stupid crutches. I hate these things." Hi laughs as I glare at the items of wood.  
  
  
*******************  
  
  
Well, two weeks have passed since the day in the park. I'm free from crutches or casts. Tomorrow Merm and Dad are going on a business trip. They're gonna be gone a week, though the business part is only two days. I suspect it has something to do with a certain annaversary coming up. I've pleaded my case, and I get to stay home. I'm still shocked that Merm said yes. She's usually so protective. But I'm not complaining, after all, a WEEK with no authority is what every kid dreams of.  
  
Merm has said no wild parties, but I can have friends over. For other kids, it's summer break, but my school goes year-round. That's another reason I dislike private school. But they teach better there than they do at other schools, and although the rules are stricter, we are still allowed to have fun. But I'm glad that today is Thursday. Tomorrow I come home to an empty house, although that's depressing. And I don't get to say goodbye, because they're leaving before I get home.  
  
Munching on a mouthful of rice, I watch Merm and Dad trade mushy looks. It's funny, but it's also nearly making me lose my appetite, and since I don't eat much, Merm would say that's a bad thing. I'm just not a big eater. Merm says I don't eat enough for a bird to live on. I'm still alive, so I guess it is.  
  
After saying goodnight, I pad into my dark room. I only like natural light, so at night my room is always dark, because when I get home, I draw the shades to keep the street-lamp light out of my room. As I pause in front of mt bed, something leaps out from under it and grabs my ankle. Sharp claws and teeth dig into my flesh. After a slight start I realize it's only Raindrop, my kitten.  
  
"Rain," I lightly scold, picking her up. She purrs and rubs against my face, rough tongue following the line of my cheekbone. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness of the room, and I can see her warm amber eyes. I set her on the bed and fish for the rumpled covers. Rain snuggles up to me as I pull the light blanket over both of us.  
  
  
*******************  
  
  
Only me and the cats. Wierd. The house is silent, save Raindrop's purr and the occasional noise of me turning a page in my book. But these noises seem swallowed by the stillness. I am following the steps of Robin Hood and his band of merry men under the green boughs of Sherwood Forest, and scratching Rain behind the ears. The longhair calico kitten is purring away, content. We're curled up in the recliner together, in the fading sunlight. Another cat, Ceila, an orange tabby, is perched on the arm of the recliner, watching two other cats have at it in a staredown.  
  
The shrill jangling of the phone shatters the stillness and sends both me and the cats about five feet in the air. Putting my book down I fumble for my glasses on the end table. The grey frames are hard to see. Next time I'm getting light purple. "Hold your horses," I mutter at the insistent phone. Ah, here they are! Putting them on, I scamper to the phone.   
  
"Hello, Ichijouji residence, Ken speaking."  
  
"Hi, Ker! Whatcha doin'?" Hi asks.  
  
"Recovering from shock. Thanks a bunch for scarin' me to bits."  
  
"Sorry, bud. Hey, Mom says it's okay for me to come over tomorrow!"  
  
"I got a better idea. See if you can stay over tomorrow night. We can have fun."  
  
"Yeah! I'll ask her!" I could hear him holler; "Hey mom!"  
  
In the background; "Yes, dear!"  
  
"You didn't know what I was gonna ask!"  
  
"I'm a mother. I can read minds. If it's okay with Kathren, it's okay with me."  
  
"Okay!" Hi turned back to the phone. "That was freaky! What's your mom say?"  
  
"Mom already okayed it. Sorry to cut the convo short, but I better hit the books."  
  
"Aw, okay. See ya tomorrow!" Hi's voice is excited as he hung up. I laugh a bit at him, then gathered up my book and went to do some homework. I finish it before the weekend, and I think it's more efficient. 


	6. Sleepovers and Darkness

Popcorn, a movie, plenty of coke, and Hi makes for a fun spend-the-night. Hi is naturally hyper, and any amount of sugar makes it worse. While no one's around, we're watching "The Thief and the Cobbler." Sure, it's a cartoon, but it's a great story and funny, too. Me and Hi mouth the lines along with the characters. Rain and the other cats are sitting around, eating any popcorn that gets dropped. Rain is in my lap, and I'm sneaking her pieces of popcorn.  
  
"Hey, Bandit!" Hi exclaims. I glance over. A large Maine coon cat has decided that Hi's popcorn needs pilfering. Hi laughs as he shoos away the tomcat.  
  
"I shoulda warned you; he likes popcorn," I laugh, letting Rain poke her nose into my glass and get a sip of coke.  
  
"And your cat likes coke. Wierd." Hi shakes his head and turns back to the movie.  
  
  
*******************  
  
  
I moan. "Hi, go to sleep. All sane people are sleeping now, and I'd like to."  
  
"And you think I'm sane?" Hi's voice comes from the darkness. Without bothering to roll over, I elbow him in the back. "Ouch!"  
  
"Serves you ri-" I cut myself off with a prodigious yawn. "Okay, I'm going to sleep now. Goodnight, Hitoshi."  
  
" 'Night, Ker." Hi yawns as well.  
  
All is dark and silent. Rain comes and wriggles under the covers to sleep next to me, like she always does. The warm, furry form close to me is comforting. Slowly, I drift off, wondering quietly if Hi's asleep yet.  
  
  
*******************  
  
  
It's warm and dark. Opening one eye reveals it's not dark, it's bright morning. Rain is gone, and I think Hi is too. I open both eyes and roll over. Hi's back is to me, and he's sound asleep still. Glancing around, I catch sight of the clock on my wall, blurry though it is. Squinting, I struggle to read the time. Yipes, it's after ten. Carefully sitting up, I stretch and yawn. I get out of bed, careful not to wake Hi, and wander off.  
  
I stick my tongue out at the face in the mirror while brushing my hair. Black strands are caught thickly in the brush when I place it on the counter. I nab my glasses, quickly clean the fingerprints off them, put them on, and walk back to my room softly on bare feet. Hi is still in bed, sound asleep, muttering. I can feel the grin on my face. Creeping forward, I listen.  
  
"Mmm . . . Sis, go 'way . . . uh-huh . . . ungh. . . ." Rolling my eyes, I reach over to wake him up. There's only one way to do that. You gotta run your finger down his back, and he'll wake up instantly. Don't ask me why. Wake him up any other way and you risk a black eye. I discovered the less dangerous technique around our seventh sleepover, and have used it ever since.  
  
Hi's eyes snap open. He blinks, then yawns. Sitting up, he stretches and smiles at me. "Morning. What's for breakfast?"  
  
"I dunno, but you're gonna help, whatever it is. Let's go." I lead the way into the silent kitchen.  
  
  
*******************  
  
  
We discuss different techniques of drawing over a breakfast of French toast and milk. Hi unabashidly eats five pieces. Shaking my head at him, I only have one. Hi agrees with my mom about my eating habits. Whenever I protest, he brings up the fact that I'm skinny. I'm just that way; it doesn't have a thing to do about what I eat.  
  
I carry the dishes to the sink while Hi goes and gets our drawing stuff. "Ker, I can't find your pad!" he shouts from my room.  
  
Walking in, I go to my desk, open the second drawer from the top, and fish out my drawing pad. Hi has this sheepish grin. Grabbing my charcoal pencils from off the top of my desk, I slip off the the sitting room. Hi follows, and we sit in the sun to draw and talk. Hi shows me some drawings he's done recently. They are all very good. I'm not gonna be surprised when he turns out to be an artist.  
  
"Ker, you done anything lately?"  
  
"Well, a few horses, and one of a girl riding her bike through the street." Hi clamors to see them.  
  
"That horse is a little off," he critiques, pointing to one jumping a fence.  
  
"I know. I just can't get that angle to work right," I say. Rain crawls into my lap, and I start to pet her.  
  
"Hmm. Hey, the one of the girl is really good. I like the detail."  
  
"Yeah, it was hard, but I like the way it came out, too. My fav is the mare and foal."  
  
"Ohhh, that's so cool! It's almost like they'd leap off the page!"  
  
I hide a grin of pleasure. "Come on, it's not that good."  
  
"Yes, it is." Hi looks up at me. His eyes, usually so energetic, now hold dead seriousness. "Ker, you have real talent. Now don't deny it, because you do, and you know it. Just ask anyone! They'll tell you. You're a natural. Never let anyone convince you otherwise."  
  
I'm at a loss for words at the sudden praise. Hi means it. I duck my head, feeling my cheeks growing warm. My hair swings down to obscure my vision. I can't see beyond the natural curtain, and I know it hides my face. That's one reason why my hair is so long. The other reason is to hide the scars of an incedent that I'd rather not recall.  
  
The skritching of a pencil on paper is heard. I can tell without pulling my hair back that Hi is drawing me with my head down, face hidden in the shadows. I stay still, gathering myself together and letting him have a chance to sketch. Rain purrs from my lap, where she is curled up. I haven't stopped scratching behind her ears. It's habit by now, I guess.  
  
  
*******************  
  
  
Silence. Peace? No. Just after Hi left, the monster that lurks lept up to grab me by the throat. Thoughts turn to darkness, shadows call. I cannot shake the mood. It haunts, yet it also entices. It is very alluring. Who could resist?  
  
Certainly not me. Something is part of those shadows that call, it is something in my heart that pulls. The cats are all off in other rooms; even Rain is gone. I sit quietly, Indian-style, on the rumpled covers of my bed. Suddenly I leap to the floor, snatch up my notepad and yank out a black pen, and dive back on the bed. The sudden urge to scribble is nearly unbearable. Hi doesn't know that I also write dark poems. I've never told anybody. They're really dark, covered in shades of black and dripping with blood. The only colors they're written in are black and red ink.  
  
After scribbling furiously, the sigh comes from my toes up. The pen and notebook clatter listlessly to the floor. Feeling strangely drained, I curl up in the covers. Darkness creeps in.  
  
  
  
  
Okay, so I'm still working on fixing this. My computer, or ff.net, messed it up when I try to post things! Agh! I'm working on it, truely. bear with me, please? 


	7. The Darkest Hour Is Just Before Dawn

The next day I decide I want an apple. Sighing, I get up and go to the kitchen. The house is so silent. Every little noise seems so loud. Peeling the apple proves to be a slightly difficult task, since I at first cannot find the knife. Staring into space, I jump back to reality. Lesson? Don't space out when you've got sharp objects in your hand.  
Blood trickles warmly down my hand from the cut. Staring, I suddenly feel strangly numb. I watch as if someone else is controlling my hands. The apple is set down on the counter. I run my thumb over the knife's edge. It's very sharp. I look at my wrist. Lightly, I place the edge of the knife to my skin. I can barely feel it. I start to seriously entertain the idea that has haunted me. I press down. The blade presses into my skin, not cutting; not yet, anyway.  
As if in a trance, I draw the knife lightly across. The cut it leaves isn't deep at all, not even bleeding. No pain, yet. With more pressure, I draw the blade across my own skin again. It stings, and blood appears, crimson against my pale skin. Emotions swell up fiercely, and with a strange burst of anger the knife bites deep into my flesh. I repeat the action on my other wrist. Blood flows darkly to the floor. I stand and feel the burning pain, watching my life flow away with each red drop, now just watching, empty, drained of all emotion.  
The pool of blood on the kitchen tile slowly grows. Every second a big drop hits the almost-black surface, making ripples. I notice the bleeding has almost stopped. I flex my wrists, causing fresh pain and blood. I realize that I can't move my fingers very well. I probably severed the tendons when I slashed myself like that. I wait, drained and empty, moving only to renew the bloodflow. The pain has faded until I barely notice it. Glancing up, I see that it's dusky, and the room is barely visible. How long had I been standing, watching my body die? My spirit had died long ago.  
I don't have much time to see, because my gaze is drawn back to my blood-crusted wrists. The flow is slackening. I twist my wrists, feeling numb and heavy. There is no more blood than before. Then my vision starts to slowly fade, like someone has drawn a veil between me and the world. Night falls, and I close my eyes.  
  
*******************  
  
Whispers, voices. Am I dead? I can't open my eyes, can't move. Someone is talking, crying, repeating my name over and over again in a voice broken and clouded by sobs. Darkness began to close in again, and I welcomed it with open arms.  
  
*******************  
  
A hand is softly stroking my hair. I am lying on something soft, my head in someone's lap. I can hear my name being whispered. A familiar form is snuggled in the curve of my body. Raindrop is silent, sleeping. I slowly tune in to what the person is saying.  
"Oh, Ken, Ken, Ken, why? You could have told me, oh, Ken . . . ."  
Who is it? I can get a face and match it to the voice, but the name escaps me, hovering just out of reach in the shadows and mist of oblivion. The hand is still running itself through my hair, softly stroking it. Who spoke my name with such care in it, whose caress was so loving? I can't remember and feel helpless.   
Warm tears are falling on my face, from the other who is so concerned with me. I try to go back to the peaceful oblivion I had been drifting in, but I can't. I'm drawn to the surface, to where the person is, calling me back in a soft, tear-filled voice. Slowly, feeling returns. My body feels like it did before night fell, numb and heavy. Is it morning? I try my hardest to open my eyes. Finally, my body responds, and I am looking up into a pair of extremely familiar almost-white eyes, with ebony hair falling into them. Hitoshi.  
Hi blinks, and tears fall onto my face again. He looks like he can't quite believe his eyes. "Ker," he whispers, barely to be heard, "Ker, are you awake?" I find that I cannot answer verbally, so I look him meaningfully in the eyes, and manage a wink. Hi's face lights up in an ecstatic smile. I've never seen such joy in anyone's eyes before.  
"Oh Ker, I thought I'd lost you, lost you for good. You scared me so much, and I--" Hi breaks off, and tears again fall from his face to mine. His voice reaches me in the very softest of whispers. "I was just so frightened that I'd lost my one true friend. You mean so much to me, and I owe you a lot. I thought you were gone . . . ."  
He trails off, voice choked. I've never seen him so worked up. I am suddenly distraced from his face by Rain stirring at my side. She purr-meows, like she does everytime she wakes up, and stretches against me. Her face runs along my arm, and her wiskers tickle my hand. With a fiery sharpness, pain shoots through my wrist. Hi shifts, and Rain hisses at him, then jumps off the bed, growling. Hi moves slowly back to the way he was sitting before.  
"I'm sorry, Ker. I didn't mean to move like that. It's just that Raindrop was starting to make it bleed again." He studies my face with earnest.  
From nowhere the words come. "It's okay, Hi. I'm sorry . . . ."  
"For what?" Hi asks, tears running down his face, and dropping onto mine. His tears are soon joined by some of my own.  
"For doing this to you . . . and to me . . . ." My cracked voice trails off into the stillness.   
Hi sniffs and wipes the tears from his face. "Oh, Ker, I forgive you a thousand times over."  
  
  
;_; So very sad! This is a short chapter. I'm sorry I haven't updated in so long. I do have a life besides fanfiction, believe it or not...... 


	8. But Dawn Is Brighter for It

For weeks after, neither Hi nor my parents would let me out of their sight. I didn't blame them. I wouldn't want to let me out of their sight either. I was -- still am, a bit -- frightened of the way my life went down. I hit rock bottom, and it was almost the end of me. I'm having to rebuild my life, my trust in people, and my heart, piece by piece.  
  
Hi and I had a long talk after I got out of the hospital. He told me I should have talked to him about . . . my brother's . . . death. Looking back, I see that I should have. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty. But for reasons I am still discovering, I didn't talk to anyone, not even Mom or Dad. Hi says I need to learn to be more open. I'll try. It's hard to overcome years of shyness and grief. But I'm learning, slowly, with the help of my parents, Hi, my counselor, Grace, and of course, God's love.  
  
I think I'll invite Hi over tonight. Raindrop and I need some company.  
  
  
  
Finis  
  
  
*******************  
  
  
Ken's story was an interesting and hard write. If it was confusing, it was because Ken's mind is a maze. Depressed people don't think very clearly. I've never tried before to write a story concerning depression and suicide. Ken was lucky, because he had friends and parents who cared enough to want to help. DEPRESSION IS REAL AND CAN KILL. If you or anybody you know are depressed, for real, then get help. Life is too precious to lose.  
  
  
"Depression is more about anger than it is about sadness. But it's usually expressed as sadness. Depression can happen at all ages, from childhood to old age, and it's the United State's number one health problem. When someone is depressed, their behavior patterns change, they lose intrest in activites they once enjoyed (like sports, music, friendships). Someone who's truely battling depression will extended periods of crying spells, feelings of helplessness (like not being able to change your situation) and hopelessness (like you'll feel this way forever), irritation or agitation. A depressed person often withdraws from others. Depression seldom goes away by itself, and the greatest danger of depression is suicide. The risk of suicide increases if the depression isn't treated. But here's the good news: When treated properly, most people greatly improve, and return to normal, daily activities." -- from the August 2001 issue of Brio. (www.briomag.com)  
  
  
Here's the checklist Ken used in the story. Be truthful, and if you say "yes" to five or more, them it's necessary to see a professional.  
  
  
*I have a long-term illness  
*I have low self esteem  
*I am critical of myself  
*I tend to be rebellious or hostile  
*I am easily overwhelmed by stress  
*I feel guilty most of the time  
*I feel sad, helpless or hopeless and have crying spells  
*I have problems sleeping (either too much, constant waking from sleep, or inability to sleep)  
*I have lost/gained five percent of my normal wieght  
*I am agitated and irritated most of the time  
*I am constantly tired and fatigued  
*I have had thoughts of hurting myself  
*I can't concentrate or make descions  
*I have problems remembering things  
*I worry most of the time  
*I don't eat properly  
*I have been abused physically and/or sexually  
*I haven't told anybody about abuses that have happened to me  
*I often feel ashamed  
  
  
If any of the above applies to you, get help. "One of the signs of a strong, intelligent person is to get help when you need it!" Please! Don't wind up like Ken. Don't try to throw it all away. Get help. Life can be better. DEPRESSION CAN KILL! CHOOSE TO LIVE!!!!!!!!  
  
  
II Corinthians 1:7-10 NIV version  
"And our hope for you is firm, because we know that just as you share in our sufferings, so also you share in our comfort. We do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about the harships we suffered in the province of Asia. We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired even of life. Indeed, in our hearts we felt the sentance of death. But this happened so that we might not rely on ourselves but on the LORD, Who raises the dead. He delivered us from such a deadly peril, and He will deliver us. On Him we have set our hope that He will continue to deliver us....."  
  
  
************************************************************************  
I know sometime's it hard to believe it  
But Love's been following you  
From where I stand I'm able to see it  
And Love's been following you  
All through the stormy night  
Didn't you see the light  
Goodness and mercy right there behind you  
Love's been following you  
  
  
Some days your heart just couldn't be colder  
But Love's been following you  
All you have learned just makes you feel older  
But Love's been following you  
You think that no one cares  
Still Love is alway there  
He would go anywhere just to find you  
Love's been following you  
  
  
Love's been following you  
Love's been following you  
Love has been following you  
Following you  
Following you  
  
  
Somehow the road just seems to get longer  
But Love's been following you  
Wait for the One who will make you stronger  
'Cause Love's been following you  
Where ever you go from here  
Run far away from fear  
Keep one thing very near and believe it's true  
Love's been following you  
Love's been following you  
Love's been following you  
************************************************************************  
Artist: Twila Paris C.D: Where I stand Title: Love's Been Following You   
************************************************************************ 


End file.
